


Physician

by persephone622



Series: Healer [1]
Category: Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare, Henry V - Shakespeare, The Hollow Crown (2012)
Genre: Extreme medieval medical practices, F/M, Gen, Major injuries, Medieval medicine is hard, Smut, no real plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephone622/pseuds/persephone622
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hal gets a visit from a healer after the Battle of Shrewsbury.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Physician

**Author's Note:**

> Just to give fair warning: talk of major battlefield injuries and medieval medical practices. There is talk of blood and serious injury, though there is no extreme detail. But, in case you could be triggered, please be aware.
> 
> Unbeta'd so forgive any mistakes, please.

My fingers trembled with cold as I finished tying the tourniquet, the boy wincing at the new pressure on his leg. “Help him,” I ordered, glancing at the two other boys that stood above us, waiting. They jumped to attention, wrapping their comrade’s arms about their shoulders and heaving him onto his feet. The boy moaned. “Be glad. You shall not lose your leg.” His pale face turned even whiter and he nodded, a grateful smile ghosting across his lips before his companions carted him away.

I sighed and pushed to my feet, adjusting my skirts and cloak before picking my way through the muddy camp, my basket on my arm. My hands rubbed together and I blew on them in a desperate attempt to warm them, my eyes lingering longingly on the few fires I passed.

The battle had ended only a day before, more dead lying on the field than gathered around fires or in tents. But there were still enough alive that myself, and the monk I traveled with were kept busy. The mud that latched onto my boots and hem was a grotesque mixture of blood and earth and snow, slippery and lethal to the injured that stumbled past me. A pain-filled groan caught my attention and I turned, spying a familiar form in a plain brown robe bent double over an old man, his hands pushing against a rather ugly wound in the man’s side. Dark eyes lifted to mine, pain and regret filling them for an instant before he glanced back down, focusing on his task. He quickly smothered the injury in salve and wrapped the old man’s torso, crossing himself and praying over the soldier before hurrying towards me. “My apologies again, Lizzie,” the monk murmured. “One such as you should not see such horror.”

I gave him an indulgent smile and reached out to grasp his arm reassuringly. “How does he fare, Brother Marcus?” I asked, nodding at the old soldier.”

Marcus’s face blanked, a familiar defense tactic. “Not well,” he replied. “I fear he is not much longer for this world.” He crossed himself again and bowed his head, his lips moving as he prayed silently.

“Brother!” A young man slid towards us, his panting breaths belying his rush. He fell to his knees as he reached us, the mud squelching around him and hindering his fight to regain his footing. “Forgive me,” he croaked once he had his feet back underneath him. “The king has asked for you. He requests your services.”

Marcus’s brow furrowed. “Does he not have his own physician?” he asked. “For I feel I may still be of use _here_.”

“He does,” the page agreed. “But . . . he wishes to hear your thoughts.”

Marcus was silent for a long moment, considering. “Very well,” he agreed, giving a slight bow of his head. “We shall follow you.”

The page sighed in relief and nodded, turning to lead us to the other side of the camp where the king and princes had their tents. “Marcus,” I hissed, forgetting his title in my frustrated surprise. “What purpose am I to serve? I am capable of being on my own and I can do good here.”

“Elizabeth, I gave your brother my word,” he replied firmly. “That I would keep you in my sight at all times. I intend to stay true.” His dark brown eyes glittered fiercely in the light of a fire as we passed it and I knew any entreaty would fall on deaf ears. I sighed and continued along beside him. His fingers brushed gently against my arm in a soothing, apologetic gesture. I simply smiled, unable to stay frustrated or angry with him for long.

The page came to a halt before an elaborate tent, turning to face us. “Hold here,” he requested, and disappeared inside for a moment. “His majesty bids you enter, Brother Marcus. _Only_ you.” He gave me a pointed look.

Marcus stiffened but met my gaze when I grasped his wrist. “I shall wait,” I soothed. “Do not worry.” I gestured for him to go, smiling reassuringly. He hesitated a moment more before nodding and following the page into the tent.

The camp was mostly quiet by this point, sleep having taken hold over most. A fire burned low in front of the tent to the right of the king’s and I took a few hesitant steps towards it, yearning for whatever warmth it might give. The dark-haired youth that sat beside it glanced up, his blue-green eyes glancing over me calculatingly. “You are welcome,” he murmured after a moment. “Your hands are trembling and I suspect you are in more need of the flame’s warmth than I.”

“Many thanks, your highness,” I replied, sitting across from him and setting my basket at my feet.

He tilted his head, curiosity in his gaze. “You know me,” he stated.

“I do,” I agreed, reaching towards the fire and feeling my fingers tingle as they warmed. “His majesty and the Prince of Wales are not the only ones easily recognized, your highness.”

“John,” he corrected. “Please. Simply John. I do not feel a prince right now.”

I smiled and nodded. “John,” I repeated.

Marcus burst from the king’s tent, his expression a mask of dark fury. “Lizzie!” he exclaimed, striding towards me. “I need your basket.” I handed it over as he reached me, staring as he dug through the contents with surprising fervor. “Sage, coriander, liquorice,” he muttered, grabbing the necessary items before shoving the basket back into my arms and marching back into the tent, grumbling under his breath.

John’s eyes were wide with amusement as he watched the monk disappear. “Well, that is one thing I shall have to boast over my brother,” he quipped. “I have heard a monk swear.” I giggled and he grinned.

A pained cry burst from the tent beside us followed by a crash of pottery, John and I both wincing. “My brother,” he explained. “He was injured. My father’s physician’s apprentice sees to him, but he still has much pain.” He arched his eyebrows at me. “You are with Brother Marcus. Perhaps . . .”

I blinked at him. “I . . . I can try,” I agreed. I grabbed my basket and stood as he did, my stomach clenching with nerves as I followed him into the tent.

A young, overly thin boy stood beside a bed, hunched over as he cared for his patient. The prince groaned as the boy probed at his leg, pushing him away with a strong shove. “Your highness, please,” the boy pleaded, his voice cracking slightly and filled with trepidation. “This will help, I assure you.” He gripped a small bowl so tightly his knuckles were white.

“Harry,” John called, drawing their attention towards us.

I reached out and snatched the bowl from the apprentice, startling him. “Yarrow,” I proclaimed, sniffing it. They watched me, curious and wary. “He speaks true, your highness. This will help.” I turned to the apprentice. “You have used vinegar to cleanse the wound?” He nodded, brow furrowing. “And myrrh?” He nodded again. “May I see the injury?”

“By all means,” Hal agreed. His piercing blue eyes sparkled mischievously as he shifted on the bed, his previous pain showing in a slight grimace that disappeared in almost the same instant it appeared. His torso was bare and the injured leg sat atop the blanket, the fabric draped strategically over the rest of him. A warmth pooled in my gut that had nothing to do with the fact that I was suddenly freed from the chill of the winter air outside.

Forcing myself to be professional, I slid my fingers gently along the cut, a sudden flush of annoyance rushing through me at the feel of cold, smooth skin. “Why was this not closed?” I demanded, glaring at the apprentice. “It is clean, yes, but it will not be for much longer.”

“Who are you?” the apprentice demanded.

“She is with Brother Marcus,” John supplied.

Hal gave a soft hum of understanding, his eyes cold as they landed on the apprentice. “You are dismissed.” The boy blanched but obeyed, bowing low and all but fleeing the tent.

“John, may I make a request?” I asked, facing the younger prince as I shed my cloak. He nodded. “I will need a heated blade. The skin must be burned together. It should have been done long before now.”

“Of course,” he agreed, his lips tilting in a smirk as he glanced at his brother before disappearing.

I could feel Hal’s gaze on me as I moved towards the table, taking stock of the apprentice’s abandoned tools, and pulling a single poppy flower from my basket. Using the mortar, I crushed it into a powder and poured it into a cup, mixing it with water from my skein. “Drink this, your highness,” I urged, moving back towards him. “It will help to ease the pain to come.”

He pushed onto his elbows and took the cup, downing the mixture in one large gulp. “What is your name?” he asked, passing the cup back.

“Elizabeth, my lord,” I replied, kneeling beside the bed. “Forgive me, but I must cleanse the wound again before it can be closed.”

Hal sighed but nodded. He clenched his jaw in preparation as I drenched a cloth in vinegar, sucking in a sharp breath as I slid the rag along the cut. “Apologies, my lord,” I murmured.

“Accepted, Elizabeth,” he replied, moaning gently as I wiped a healthy does of myrrh along his skin. His head dropped back and I stared at the long line of his throat, my tongue darting out to wet my lips. The prince’s beauty had been much talked of but I had never expected to ever be faced with it . . . nor so blatantly. My eyes slid down his torso and paused at where the edge of the blanket rested just above his hips, my imagination suddenly running wild. Hal cleared his throat and my eyes shot to his, widening guiltily as he smirked. “Have you found something worth seeing?”

“Forgive me, your highness,” I stammered, staring at his heat-filled eyes. “I . . . I meant no . . . no offence.” I pushed to my feet and tuned away only to be stopped by long, slender fingers wrapping tightly around my wrist.

“I am not offended, Elizabeth,” he said, his voice a shade deeper. I shivered at the sound of my name rolling off his tongue and obeyed readily when he tugged my arm to draw me back. “Sit.”

I complied, perching on the edge of the bed beside him and carefully arranging my hands in my lap. The mattress shifted as Hal pushed himself completely upright, his hand falling to rest on my knee. “It is rare to see a female apprentice, let alone one matched with a monk,” he said.

“I am not Brother Marcus’s apprentice,” I countered, shooting him a look. He grinned. “All I know I learned from my mother. Marcus’s sister.”

Understanding dawned on his chiseled features. “Marcus is your uncle,” he mused. “Do you live at the monastery?”

His pointer finger began to move, tracing the shape of a circle over and over on my knee. It was hypnotic and arousing and far too distracting. “N-no, my lord,” I replied, swallowing as I felt a rush of desire wash over me. “My brother a-and I live in Shrewsbury.”

The tent entrance suddenly flapped open and John strode in, pausing as he took in our proximity. His lips twitched. “Here, Lizzie,” he said, offering out the small dagger he held. The end glowed a bright orange with heat. “Shall I do it for you?”

I stood, my breath coming a bit easier as I put distance between Hal and myself. “No, John,” I replied, taking the blade. “I shall be fine.”

“Yes, _thank you_ , John,” Hal snapped, his tone clearly dismissive. John smirked and gave a respectful nod, ducking back out into the cold winter night.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself as I turned to once again meet Hal’s piercing blue eyes. “Forgive me, my lord, but this will not be pleasant.” I resumed kneeling beside the bed, gently turning his leg until his inner thigh faced me as much as possible. The skin hissed as I pressed the heat against it and Hal groaned through gritted teeth. His hand found my shoulder and his fingers dug in against the burning, only releasing once I’d reached the end of the cut.

Moving quickly, I grabbed yarrow, saffron, and long strips of cloth from my basket. I smeared the two pastes along the wound and wrapped it firmly. “Once the pain of the burn wears away, you should heal quickly, my lord,” I murmured.

“I am- _ugh_ -in need- _ah_ -of you . . . a bit longer,” he grunted, reaching for me as I stood. “There is . . . I need . . .” He made an annoyed sound and stretched, grimacing, his large hand grasping my neck and tugging me down until our lips met.

I squealed in surprise, arms flailing, but his thin, soft lips remained firmly pressed to mine. My hands found purchase on his shoulders, keeping me from sprawling on top of him, and I returned the kiss. Hal made a pleased sound and his fingers flexed on my neck, his hand shifting slightly to bury itself in my hair.

His tongue darted out and traced my upper lip, lapping gently as he tasted me, and I moaned. He pushed inside and a shock slid down my spine as his tongue brushed mine, his caresses alternating gentle and firm. His arm wound around my waist and he lifted me onto his lap, grunting when my leg bumped against his.

“My . . . my lord,” I breathed, pulling away. Hal lowered his mouth, choosing to taste the sensitive skin of my neck and throat. “We . . . we should _not_ . . .”

“Hal,” he mumbled, the word nearly lost against my flushed flesh. He lifted his head and met my gaze, his eyes dark and heated. “Hal.”

I nodded, understanding. “Hal,” I amended. “We should _not_. You . . . you are- _ah_ -injured.” His teeth dug into my shoulder, sending a strong wave of lust crashing over me.

“I shall be fine,” he muttered, his breathe hot against my skin. “My physician was well taught.” He pulled back. “Do you consent?”

His eyes were dangerous, lusty pools and I could feel his hard, heated flesh pushing against my thigh, pulsing. “Yes,” I breathed.

He kissed me again, hard and claiming. “Stand,” he ordered. “Back to me.” I obeyed and winced when he moved to the edge of the bed, feeling his groan of pain in my bones. Long, slender fingers made quick work of my stays and my overdress slid to the floor with a flutter and Hal tugged on my under dress. “Off.”

Despite the tent’s warmth, my newly exposed skin pimpled with the temperature change and with the sharp gasp of pleasure Hal loosed behind me. His hands wrapped around my hips and tugged me backwards between his legs, his lips pressing wet, lingering kisses to the skin just above my rear. “Face me,” he said. His breathe caught as he took me in, eyes widening appreciatively.

Confidence suddenly surged through me and I stepped closer, burying my fingers in his rust-colored curls. “Have you found something worth seeing?” I murmured.

“Quite,” he agreed, grinning up at me before closing his lips around a nipple. His tongue teased it, flicking and swirling until it hardened. He sunk his teeth in gently and pulled, the sensation shooting right between my thighs.

“Oh, god,” I moaned, my head falling back.

Hal hummed against my breast, mapping a trail of kisses to the one left neglected and repeating the process. His hand slid along my thigh, stroking soothingly, until his fingers dipped between them to slide along my soaking and throbbing sex. “Yes, Elizabeth,” he murmured as I widened my stance instinctively. “Open for me.” I whimpered as he brushed against my clit and then gasped as he thrust one long finger inside me. “So ready for me.”

A harsh whine escaped my lips when he suddenly stopped, his finger sliding free and his lips releasing my breast while he gently guided me from between his legs. But it lasted only a moment before he pulled me back, this time forcing me to straddle him. One arm slid around my waist while his other hand wrapped around his cock, the flesh almost purple with need. He positioned me carefully before pulling me down onto him with force. “God in heaven,” he groaned, throwing his head back.

“Hal,” I moaned, the feeling of him stretching me nearly sending me over the edge alone.

He shifted his hips and I nearly screamed, able to choke back the sound just in time. My body felt as though it were on fire, burning from the inside out. “Ride me,” he demanded.

His hands gripped my hips as I moved, clutching at me as I lifted off of him almost completely before slamming back down. He groaned, a mixture of pain and pleasure, and urged me on. One hand left my hip to cup my breast, his mouth latching on to the other as I kept up my steady pace. Heat coiled in my gut with each thrust until I felt his fingers swirl once, twice, three times across my clit and the world exploded.

“My god, Lizzie,” he panted, grunting as he kept up my motions, pushing me deeper into my orgasm, ignoring the pain that was sure to be firing through every inch of his leg. With a strangled cry he came, his cock pulsing and releasing deep inside me.

We returned to earth together, Hal still buried deep inside me, our hips gently rocking as we searched for that final burst of pleasure. His long fingers gently stroked my back as my head found his shoulder, our bodies spent. “Will you be missed?” he asked. “If you stay?”

Marcus’s promise flickered through my mind. “Yes,” I murmured, my disappointment nearly palpable.

Hal was silent for a long moment. “John!” he called. I made a sound of obvious displeasure, earning only a cheeky grin and a gentle swat to my backside in response. The dark-haired prince shuffled up to the tent entrance, but never crossed the threshold.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Have word sent to Brother Marcus,” Hal replied. “I have asked Elizabeth to stay in case my injury needs further tending. It is my express desire that she do so. She is safe.”

“Of course,” John agreed. His shadow disappeared from sight as he moved to find a page or Marcus himself.

We sat there for a few more moments until Hal grasped my hips and we slid apart, both gasping at the sensations it caused to our over-sensitized flesh. Hal stood with me and nearly collapsed, his injured leg giving out under his weight. “My lord!” I exclaimed, hurrying to catch him.

“Hal,” he corrected, grimacing as he plopped back down onto the bed. He sighed and slid backwards before stretching out along the mattress. “Come here, Elizabeth.” I hesitated only a moment before clambering in beside him. His long arms wrapped around me and pulled me close, his body slick with sweat and so very warm. Soft lips brushed along my forehead, my cheeks, and my lips before sleep overcame me and I fell into oblivion.


End file.
